I’m sure I am not alone in hating politicians. After all, to look at the way they dress they clearly hate themselves. In fact, I might have got the title wrong on this one because the ‘hate’ ought to be directed at ‘we, the people’ for putting up with these bastards. It doesn’t matter if it’s the latest sex or expenses scandal, employing family members, the broken promises or even the complete ignorance of how real people live and feel. What really makes me want to inflict severe harm is the little glint in their eyes that says, “We know we’re lying, corrupt, perverted, two-faced charlatans, but guess what? There’s absolutely fuck all you can do about it until the next election and, even then, more people will vote against us than for us… and we’ll still get in! Meanwhile, we’re going to pass laws aplenty that take a dump on your civil rights and empty your wallet.”
It’s a very chatty glint.
So how do they keep getting away with it? Why do apparently sensible people continue to vote for these parasites? Well, consider the wildebeest and the crocodile. Wildebeest spend their entire lives scratching out a basic existence, living hoof-to-mouth and falling victim to all manner of predators. The crocodiles bask in the sunshine; their cold, reptilian expressions betraying nothing of the carnage they are about to unleash.
Every year the wildebeest arrive at the river and eye it warily. Their instinct is driving them to cross the water, but they are hesitant. There is something to be afraid of, although they cannot remember exactly what. Listen carefully and you can hear the conversation between the front-runners:
“So, we are agreed? There’s definitely something not quite right here.”
“Definitely. Maybe Terry knows what it is.”
“Possibly, but no one’s seen Terry since this time last year. Which is funny really…”
Unfortunately, the remaining wildebeest have forgotten what happened the time before and bunch up behind these free thinkers, pushing them onwards against their will. The crocodiles cannot believe their luck as they gorge themselves once more and, despite hugely outnumbering the mobile handbags, the wildebeest that aren’t being torn apart stand idly by. They’re either too timid to fight back or too stupid to realise that the crocodiles can’t eat them all.
Eventually, the crossing is over and the water has turned red. The crocodiles have had their fill, taking care to leave enough survivors to breed more buffet items. The remaining wildebeest continue their journey, their tiny minds already forgetting what has just happened.
And next time, they will cross the river again.